


Bitterfruit

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [12]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Gen, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four children sat around a table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitterfruit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Four children sat around a table. Lark wouldn’t have taken notice, upon stepping out of her work room to join the chatter, except that the feat was a _marvel_. These were not any children but, as Rosie called them, ‘Spawn of the Circle’—and thus not the easiest children to get seated, least of all _together_.

            Rosethorn was entertaining them all with a citrus fruit, cutting it in half and then each half into further sections. She deposited a section on each of the four children’s plates.

            “Do _not_ get this in your eyes,” she told them, pointing at her own eyes. “And if _any_ of you touch another with your fork, you’ll spend the rest of the day alone in a corner—or in a corner with _me._ Do you understand?”

            Three of the little heads nodded. A golden-skinned girl with startling green eyes poked the fourth child—a boy with dirty-blond hair and cornflower blue—smack in the forehead. “Nod, bleater.”

            “ _Language!_ ” Rosethorn commanded, tapping the girl on the head. “Behave. And now, _with your fork_ , eat the fruit.” She demonstrated, wrestling a little square of the fruit out of its skin with her fork. She popped it in her mouth and chewed, smiling. Lark frowned from her doorway as she could see, immediately, that the smile was _wicked_.

            The four children, after some hassle, eventually managed to get the fruit in their mouths. After a few chews, three bits of fruit came back out.

            “Ewww eww eww!”

            “YUCK!”

            “Disgusting!”

            Rosethorn glared at them all, one at a time, until the fruit was back in their mouths. The three chewed—grimacing and glaring all the while—and turned to the fourth child, who was chewing away without issue.

            She shrugged, pale hands shooting up in defence and brushing against the beads plaited into the cornrowed braids of her hair. “Not _that_ bad.” Her smile was big and white, the product of what must have been much maternal care and pride. “ _You_ all may need the sweetening, but I don’t. My mothers taught me better’n to spit out food.”

            Rosethorn hid a grin behind her shoulder as she cut another section for the girl and handed it over. “Always knew you were my favourite for a reason.”

            “Hey!”

            “What?”

            “Excuse me!” the other three called. The red-headed boy’s glare was especially strong. “You’re not supposed to say that to children.”

            “Yeah,” the golden-skinned girl piped up, “that’s bad for kids. Papa wouldn’t like it.”

            “Your Papa wouldn’t know what favouritism—”

            “She’s _joking_ , darlings,” Lark cut in, sweeping into the room and standing beside Rosethorn, placing an arm around her and pinching her hip. Lark smiled sweetly. “ _Isn’t she?_ ”

            “Yes, I am. I don’t keep favourites, that would imply I _like_ you all, little blooms,” Rosethorn replied, but she couldn’t quite hide the fondness of her gaze as she looked them over. “Very well, you’ve had some fruit. Go and play in the garden.”

            Within seconds three of the children were gone, the fourth one following after more slowly once he had retrieved his book. Rosethorn grinned over at Lark, and the latter knew by the mischief in the grin and gaze that Rosie had a plan for all of this.

            “ _Rosie!_ ” Lark exhaled, exasperated. Yet the ghost of a smile was still present in the many lines around her face. “You’ve set them back years! Why have you gone and done that, giving them the bitterest fruit in all the world?”

            Rosethorn looked rather smug as she gathered up the dishes. “Because now all other fruit will be glorious by comparison, and we’ll only remind them of this one whenever they refuse the others.”

            “Rosie, you…” Lark faltered, hand on her hip. “You are either the most devilish or genius woman I have ever known.”

            Rosie, standing at the washing basin, peeked over her shoulder; one eyebrow slowly rose. “They’re exclusive now?”

            Lark laughed and walked over to assist her, planting a kiss on the tenderly wrinkling skin above her cheekbone. “You’re good at this, you know—being a grandmother.”

            “Don’t say such things,” Rosie countered immediately; she splashed some water at Lark. “I’ll make you eat bitterfruit too, if you’re so sweet on me.”

            Lark wrinkled her nose and splashed water back.

            At the completion of their chore and at Little Bear’s impatient bark (he was not always so fond of playing granddog), they hurried out to watch the children play. Rosie’s whisper drifted on the breeze: “We’re _never_ watching all four of them at once again.”

            Lark agreed, but knew somehow that the next week, they would be in the same situation and coming to the same conclusion—as they had been for years.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (:


End file.
